Chapter 14: (Not) Crystal Balls, Desks, and Black Magic

The new robes were great. Not only the self [clean]ing, but guaranteed to recharge for a full year, instead of a handful of times before needing to be replaced. Replacing meant a whole new set of robes, too. The enchantment had to be placed in the cloth at the start of the tailoring. It couldn’t just be tacked on as an afterthought, or a replacement. It was the same as what a [Scrivener] did, infusing the parchment and ink with [mana], and then putting the two together with intent. It was how the magic worked. That is what I have been told, anyway (it seemed an awful lot like smartphones and planned obsolescence, right?).

A little more upfront, and all that.

The fit of my new robes was also better—the cut, styling, and materials. Tohd Harmsson was a friend of Alric’s and supplied my Master with all of his robes. Of course, the two sets that were a part of my apprentice allotment were from a second-hand shop. I was saving up for another set, after paying Tess back, obviously. It was more incentive to get my side project up and running.

“Book, how are your exercises coming along,” Master Alric asked.

“Good, Master,” I replied. “I would say I have increased my [mana] reservoir by at least a quarter.”

“Good, good. How about we find out, then?”

I set aside the new batch of ink I had been mixing. It was time for the mix to cure, so Master Alric had impeccable timing. I’m sure he’d chosen it on purpose.

“Yes, sir.” I followed him out of my closet…uh, graciously given workspace. And it wasn’t under the stairs.

My Master took a moment to survey my new robes. I got a short nod of approval. Appearances mattered, and an apprentice should strive to emulate their Master. I just wished it hadn’t cost so much. Out of my pocket, not his.

He led me to a section of the storefront that was set aside as his own workstation. It was positioned under the larger of the front windows, allowing the best natural lighting to fall on his work. The glass was one, large, unblemished sheet. No collection of small, individual panes as was the penchant for most businesses. It must have cost a fortune. Nothing but the best would do. I thought it looked too much like a window display for my taste. I would wilt under the scrutiny of any passersby. Staged with care and maximum bang for the buck. Would the Master frost it with fake snow for the winter solstice?

Alric settled into an over-stuffed armchair on wheels. An office executive’s chair. The desk it was behind was heavy, polished, and imposing. And oversized. If Master Alric had been dressed in a pin-striped suit and not luxurious robes, I would think I had been summoned to the Dean’s office back at university. Was there a hint of striping on those robes?

“Ahh,” he sighed, sinking into the plush cushions. I winced whenever I sat on my hard stool. I stood to attention across from the expanse of wood between us.

Master Alric pulled a round, clear sphere on a brass-legged stand from a shelf. It was covered in a purple, silk cloth. I am not going to think, crystal ball. Nope.

He pulled the silk off with a flourish and set it aside after folding it into a precise square. Alric then put it on the front of his desk, closer to me. I took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let the air escape. Next, I placed both hands on the crys…glass sphere. I let my [mana] infuse the instrument, willing it to manifest. A dark, emerald-green mist began to swirl in the center of the glass, spreading to fill a good portion. Once the color started to slow down and stop spreading, I remembered my lesson on bribery. I had known that this test was going to come, it was the same one I had taken before Master Alric had accepted me as his apprentice. The misty vortex was larger, denser, and richer in color, this time. After my time here learning, if it had not been there would be a problem. But I wasn’t content, and I had a plan loaded up and ready.

What did the [mana] want from me? How could I entice more of it out from the vessel inside of me? Artificial though it may be. I hadn’t figured out how that might help. An oversight I would need to remedy, soon.

I didn’t want to delve too deeply into purpose. There was no way I could afford to replace the—fine! I’ll say it—crystal ball. That was arrogant to an awful degree, wasn’t it? Me being able to crack such an impressive [mana] tool with my talent. Pure hubris. it was better than self-deprecating, but I did not want to overcorrect too drastically. ‘Balance,’ my therapist had always been telling me. That was the key to a healthy mindset.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

‘Work with me, and we can show our potential. Prove our mettle to a Master of craft, be worthy of becoming…more.’ I did not beg, didn’t grovel before the [mana]. I offered it a partnership of equals. One where we could become greater than the sum of our parts.

“Book?”

‘Give me just a little bit more, just a tad…’

“Book,” Master Alric’s voice was faint in my ears. “Stop, do not damage yourself.”

‘Give…’

Damage?

I opened my eyes, not having noticed closing them in the first place. Emerald mist clouded half the globe, its shading edging towards black. I felt weak, my legs rubbery. I had always heard that you shouldn’t lock your knees, but it was the only thing holding me upright. My lower back spasmed, my balance threatening to tilt me to the floor. Feeling an imminent collapse, I rested both hands on the desk in front of me. Locking my elbows. Oh, well, joint damage be damned. I was still standing.

“Master?”

“It is possible to cause damage to your abilities. Notice the blackening of your [mana]? It shows too much strain, corrupting the [mana].”

I hadn’t heard of that before; corrupted [mana]. It sounded bad. Every [mana] user had a unique shade of color for themselves. My was an emerald green, obviously. The colors didn’t matter, akin to a signature. However, fingerprints might be a better comparison. Those can not be changed. I had evolved my own signature over the years, putting more character in it than the lazy loops of my younger self. None of that mattered, but possible corruption sure did. No black [mana], noted. Are we talking literal ‘black magic’?

“What happens, Master, if the [mana] becomes corrupted? Does it change the outcome, or something else?” I hesitated. “Worse?”

“I behoove you to never find out, Apprentice Book.”

Now that was formal. More so than usual, so ‘worse’ was my answer. Master Alric tended to use my name a good bit. Not Jasper; never Jasper. He did not even know my given name. And no one on this world was ever going to, aside from Tess. There was no DMV here, thank the Mother of Tress. Bless her roots.

I started to ask more, but the look I was getting from Master Alric stopped me cold.

“Yes, Master.” I waited a beat. “I did do better, though.” Not quite a question. I didn’t want to seem too eager. Keeping the arrogance in my head was a good move on my part. I congratulated myself with a pat on the back. Not literally, of course. I did not want to look silly, besides, my elbows were locked in place.

“Yes, you did,” Alric responded. “A significant improvement. The exercises are doing their job.”

“I do them every night, just like you told me to, Master,” I said to fill the void, eager to please. I think the locked joints were restricting blood flow to my brain. I felt woozy.

“Yes. I think we can graduate you from [torchlight] scrolls, and move on to something else, now.”

Hallelujah! Visions of [fireball] and [ice blast] danced in my head.

“We will work on a basic [heat] scroll, next, I think.”

Okay, fire adjacent. That’ll do. It would save me some coins if I didn’t have to buy those from Master Alric, anymore. I could put those coppers towards the quick insert mechanism for my scroll in the pipes prototype. I envisioned hot water in every home and a steady flow of coin into my purse. I would have to ask Alric if he knew of a good, umm… What would you call them, a pipe-fitter? Plumber? Someone who could help me with figuring out the proper application I needed. My Master had a ‘guy’ for everything.

“For, now,” Alric said. “I want you to work on the quality of your ink. You are consistent with [ink; common]. Dare I say, uncommonly consistent.” Duty called, so I smiled with him. If he only knew that I had a shortcut for it. “I want you to start aiming for [ink; good].”

“I will, Master.” Enough time had passed that I could unlock both elbows and knees. I straightened, revisiting the urge to rub at the small of my back. “I’ll start on it immediately.” Sensing I was dismissed, I turned to leave.

“Oh, and book?” He stopped me. “Lose the arrogance. It is unbecoming.”

“Yes, Master,” I managed to say past my shock. I was caught, well and true. And here I’d thought I had done a good job hiding it. Gotta work on those facial expressions some more.

I tried to be casual as I headed back to my used school desk of a workstation. I had been leaning on my shortcut [skill], possibly a little too much. It exhausted me quicker, but I couldn’t resist. I guessed the sudden drop in [mana], over the gradual slope of using the manual method was what tired me out. Tess said the same happened when she used her [sprint]. Worth it in the moment, but the coming of the tax man was inevitable. You had to pay the ferryman. ‘Don’t pay the ferryman, don’t even fix a price…’ Cris de Burgh sang in my head. Another great one, not many Gen Z’ers would have heard of. Thanks, Dad. If I could remember the lyrics correctly, I might bribe the regular bard that sang at the “Inkspot” tavern, down on the corner of Parchment Lane and 53rd Street, with a few mugs of ale. Maybe a finger or two of the house whiskey. Tequila shots weren’t a thing, much to Tess’ dismay. I was OK without them, brrap! I could still taste the sourness of agave mixed with late-night tacos from the last Spirit Week celebration on campus. Projectile vomiting in the waste basket had been my last taste of the nasty stuff. It was not going on the list of things to introduce to this particular fantasy world. Guess what fellow, displaced human, and now roommate, had laughed her ass off at me?

Distraction, distraction, distraction.

I was getting good at the infusion process for mixing ink. The next step would be to refine the [mana] as it left me. Quality over quantity. Both if I could manage it. That was the end goal. In time, Book. In time. Hopefully, this was something the Orcs had considered. If that was indeed the case, then there should be a way to set filters or such-like. How filters (or such-like, he-he. Good compound word) would even function was about as clear as how an artificial organ could be a magic repository.

More opaque than ink.